


He was shot six times by a man on the run.

by Lady_Talla_Doe



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bathing/Washing, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Harrow Lives (The Dragon Prince), Hurt/Comfort, IDK what else to tag guys, Injury Recovery, Jailed Viren, M/M, Post-Canon, Power Dynamics, Suicidal Thoughts, Survivor Guilt, Tenderness, Viren loves Harrow so very much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23336899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Talla_Doe/pseuds/Lady_Talla_Doe
Summary: Viren and Harrow are both revived by Claudia's spell, and Viren is captured. Harrow visits Viren in prison, and they have that long over due talk. They come to an understanding about what living through past sins means, and what they actually value most.
Relationships: Harrow/Viren (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63





	He was shot six times by a man on the run.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lonespark_the_friendly_kraken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonespark_the_friendly_kraken/gifts).



> This fic fought me tooth and nail since november, but it's finally done, and I'm pretty satisfied with it.  
> tittle from the Dance remix of Midnight Shadow. For Lone! Thank you for having such patience with me, I know this took an age and a half.

_Lost in a river last saturday night_   
_Far away on the other side_

  
_He was caught in the middle of a desperate fight_   
_And she couldn't find how to push through_

_The trees that whisper in the evening_   
_Carried away by a moonlight shadow_   
_Sing a song of sorrow and grieving_   
_Carried away by a moonlight shadow_

_All she saw was a silhouette of a gun_

_Far away on the other side_   
_He was shot six times by a man on the run_   
_And she couldn't find how to push through_

-Midnight Shadow, GrooveCoverage-

* * *

* * *

[My writing twitter](https://twitter.com/goblinwrites/status/1223708749853908993)

* * *

* * *

_~Three days prior~_

He was curled onto his side, putting his back to the bars, when he heard the footsteps. For the first few minutes, he ignored them, and kept his gaze on the wall.

The cell smelled better then the last time- fresh straw coated the cold stone floor, and although they had not given him a change of clothing someone had left a small bowl of water with a cloth folded on the sleeping bench. The bench its self was covered in a rough wool blanket. Viren had struggled to clean the blood from wounds that no longer existed; he was mostly clean now, but blood stiffened the fabric of his dirty white tunic is many places. He should be cold, but found he wasn’t, and it was yet another thing to cloud his already hazy wind with worry.

The person stood there for some time, before finally clearing their throat; Viren considered ignoring them once more, but he recognized that voice. Opeli was unlikely to leave without her sought after confrontation.

He rolled onto his other side, and slowly sat up.

Viren would never forget the look on Opeli’s face as she stood outside the bars that first night, face pale with shock and a collection of medical supplies slung from a basket over her arm. They drooped threateningly, but nothing fell.

“Viren,” she whispered in horror, staring at his healed skin, and taking in the very telling blood stains and ripped fabric. “What did you do?”

He shook his head slowly at her, and dropped his eyes to his hands. The curled helplessly in his lap, plucking at the dirty fabric.

“I didn’t.”

Something in the way he looked, or spoke seemed to halt her disbelief. She walked to the bars, holding them carefully, and studied his bloodied clothing.

“Is it-?”

“Yes. It…” he trailed off. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Opeli remained outside the cell for some time, before she quietly left with a very soft, “I’ll have clothes brought to you.”

~*~

_~Now~_

The clothes were his own many layered grey outfit. He supposed it was easier for them to look at him, and be angry when he wore something every one was used to; when he didn’t look like an animated corpse, propped listlessly in the corner of the cell. Viren’s wounds may have healed, but the spell had not touched the dark, bone deep bruises- or they were what remained of the terrible damage. His arms were stiff, too stiff to slide on his vest; a guard had watched mutely, before stepping in to his cell, and sliding the thick brocade fabric over Viren’s shoulders.

It hung limply; his body too sore to allow him to wear his belts. They and his cape lay folded in the basket of medical supplies. His skin smelled of salve, making his undershirt tacky, and sticking it to his skin.

He offered no word of protest, and if anything his meekness seemed to put others on edge. Viren felt like the fire had died inside him, and been replaced with a candle.

He felt old.

Footsteps down the twisting stairs. They were heavier than Opeli’s, without any hesitance that marked his guards. Viren sat up, carefully putting his feet down on the straw. It prickled, but he ignored it, eyes trained on the elongated shadow sliding sinuously down the stairs.

It grew, until he could see the boots of his visitor, then the knees; by the time his view crept to their waist, Viren knew who’s face it would reveal. Harrow stepped slowly into view, and paused with his hand on the stone rail. They stood in silence.

Harrow’s crown, bent and twisted, glinted in the light. He held it at his side, a simple gold circle upon his brow.

“You were dead.” Said Harrow, his voice soft and without accusation. He sounded calm, like when he had made his mind up and nothing Viren said could sway him. A levelness to his demeanour; something Viren had always envied. Harrow wasn’t cold by nature, warm as his house colours, as vivid in spirit as his spring-green eyes.

But this was an unswayable Harrow, looking at _him_.

“So were you.” Viren replied. It was funny how the silence seemed to fold back around them, almost eating his words. Tentative, Viren stepped forward, towards the bars; the straw crinkled at his feet, but it was thick enough to keep him from the cold stone. “…how?” he asked finally, unable to resist.

Harrow shook his head fractionally, eyes boring into Viren.

“I don’t know. I think…” he trailed off, and held up the crown so it flashed in the light. The garish bend made Viren’s heart clench; Viren sucked in a harsh breath. _Claudia’s spell_. He managed to keep from blurting it out loud; the fractional arching of Harrow’s brow told him it was a pointless effort.

“You already guessed?” Viren sighed.

Harrow nodded. He stepped closer, the light of the lanterns spilling warmly across his red brocade, the fine lines of the quilting, pin pricks of gold that caught the light. Harrow’s face lay in half shadow, the flicker of the flame’s light falling kindly upon him. He did not look any different then he had, although Viren supposed that had a lot to do with Harrow having not been crushed to death. Viren’s hand lifted, then he curled it and lay them both on top of his thighs. He knelt before his king, although it was injury that prevented him from rising, and not respect.

They remained in a tense silence, Harrow tapping the twisted crown against his thigh. He shook his head slowly.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” he admitted softly.

“You could execute me.” Viren dropped his gaze. _I would deserve it_. His shoulders slumped, hands in tense fists.

He heard Harrow shake his head, his gold singing softly as they knocked together.

“What would be the point? You already died. I am not so cruel that I think you should do so _twice_.”

A sigh, and Harrow knelt, putting himself back into Viren’s line of sight. He tapped the crown against the bars, and when Viren looked at him, Harrow held it between them.

“You _died_ , Viren. You yourself told me that people brought back like that were different.”

“ _Darker_ ,” Viren protested, seeing where Harrow was going with this.

“Do you _want_ to be punished? More? More then the death, and pain, and everything you haven’t told us? Is your guilt so heavy?” Harrow clenched a fist on the bars, and for a moment Viren saw a flash of the anger he deserved. Then Harrow took a steadying breath, and his expression smoothed back to distant displeasure.

“You are the one who said that Sarai would not be herself, if she was brought back. I can’t hold you accountable for your past, now can I? Not by your _own_ words.”

Viren lunged, frustration driving him, and grabbed Harrow by the front of his doublet through the bars, yanking him close enough that their noses nearly touched.

“It is _not the same!_ ” he hissed, unable to find the words necessary to impress upon Harrow how one thing was not at all like the other.

Harrow reached through the bars, and grabbed him back. He shook Viren like a dog shaking a rat, the deep furrow of anger back in his brow.

“ _Why?_ Tell me, why is it different?” they were far too close for him to speak so loudly, but Viren ignored his own urge to flinch and cringe.

“I am a _dark mage! I am already corrupted!”_ He shook Harrow back, and then his grip loosened, and he dropped to his knees, hands sliding from Harrow’s clothes and down the bars. He cast his gaze downward, to the floor, and let out his breath in a defeated sigh; the anger drained from him, leaving only quiet despair.

“You should have me killed, Harrow. It’s what the people would want.”

Above him, Harrow snorted. “This is not a democracy, Viren. I think we’ve had this conversation before.”

They had, of course. Many times. Viren did tend to hold onto ideas even after being told off by Harrow.

A gentle touch to his chin, tilting his face up carefully. Harrow swept his thumb across Viren’s stubble, the beginnings of a full beard covering his cheeks. He looked into Harrow’s eyes, and saw more then he wanted to; there was anger, simmering in the depths of those green eyes, and a sadness that made Viren’s heart ache with regret. So many mistakes he had made, so much pain and misery. _All my fault._

Harrow’s shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh.

“….Would you serve me, Viren? Be loyal, stay by my side?”

_Yes,_ he though, opened his mouth, and the words that tumbled out were different.

“There’s only ever been you,” Viren confessed. He flushed, and dropped his gaze. _You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted. Loss of you drove me insane._ Even now, he wanted to reach out, touch. Clench his hand in Harrow’s pant leg, and beg him to linger just a moment longer. He curled his hands around the bars, to keep anchored. _Don’t reach out_.

Another sigh, and Viren felt a hand thread through his hair, brushing it back from his face; he closed his eyes, leaning barely into the touch, and held his breath. Harrow’s fingers lingered, gentle and careful.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Harrow.” Viren choked out, eyes stinging as he blinked back a sudden onslaught of tears, regret bitter in his throat. He shut his eyes tightly, and pressed his forehead to the bars.

A soft sigh from above him, and the gentle shift of fabric, the creak of leather as Harrow took a knee in front of the bars, cupping the back of Viren’s head. His fingers were so warm, soothing the aching cold that seemed to radiate from his very soul.

“You don’t deserve my wrath, either.” Said Harrow, softly. His breath stirred the top of Viren’s head, and Viren was horrified to realize he was crying; tears slipped silently down his face, soaking into his beard. Harrow’s lips were soft and warm, when they pressed to his forehead. A chaste, comforting gesture, like one would make to comfort a child.

Viren shook with silent sobs, curling towards the bars.

“ _Harrow,_ ” he gasped, voice tight with hurt.

They couldn’t really touch, not like this. The bars kept Harrow at a distance, but Viren pressed against them until the cold steel made his cheeks hurt, gasping raspy apologies into the padded shoulder of Harrow’s doublet, as his King wound his arms awkwardly through the bars to run his hand up and down Viren’s back, the other resting firmly at the base of his skull. He sobbed like a child, in this strange timeless place. He couldn’t say for how long he clutched at him, curled against the bars and into Harrow’s embrace.

“I don’t deserve this,” Viren whispered, when his heart had slowed down, and tears started to dry. His voice was rough, cracking half way. He couldn’t seem to pull himself away from Harrow, although his bones were beginning to ache from staying in such an unnatural curl for so long.

He was so _cold_ , and Harrow was so warm.

The soft petting of his hair resumed, rough callouses on Harrow’s palm and fingers catching his hair, but not in an unpleasant fashion.

“You aren’t a monster, Viren. You deserve compassion.” Harrow spoke into his hair, and again, Viren felt the press of his lips against his forehead. Then Harrow leaned back, moving to hold Viren by the shoulders, ducking his head until he could catch Viren’s reluctant eyes. The silence built, until Viren felt fear crawl up his spine; Harrow’s gaze was intense, green eyes focusing on Viren in a way that felt inescapable; he felt _seen_ , when Harrow looked at him now, seen in a way that he rarely was.

He was aware of the tear tracks on his skin- his pale, bruised, dirty skin. No touch of dark taint remained to _hide_ him, to shield his vulnerability. Harrow looked at him, and for the first time, Viren felt like he was being truly _seen._ He hunched his shoulders, and dropped Harrow’s gaze, slanting his eyes to the floor.

Slowly, Viren unclenched his cramped hands from Harrow’s clothing, and withdrew to his side of the bars, trying to fold all the fear and hurt, and _relief_ , back under his skin where it belonged. Carefully, he pulled away from Harrow’s hands, inching backwards until he knelt out of Harrow’s reach.

“…Forgive me. I don’t know what came over me.” He apologized, voice carefully neutral.

He could feel the heavy weight of Harrow’s gaze, and hunched his shoulders more, making himself small. Without Harrow’s heat, he was so much _colder_ , like the centre of him was made of ice. Viren scoffed softly, _maybe it is._ He had no idea how the spell truly effected people; it was forbidden magic for a reason. It said a lot to the consequences that _dark magic_ had forbidden it.

A soft creak of the door, and he looked up, startled. Harrow stood in the open door, silhouetted against the torch light. Harrow had the bowl of bandages and jug of water in his hands. He entered slowly, and left the door open behind him; Viren looked between the open cell door, and Harrow with confusion.

“Harrow…?” He asked, hesitant.

His King ignored him, placing his burdens on the bench. The bandages tumbled across the worn wood as Harrow tipped them out, and the bowl made a soft click as he placed it down.

The water in the pitcher was still steaming, kept warm by a small spell. The fire glyph on the bowl lit as the water touched it, and he knew from experience that it would stay warm for hours.

Viren stayed kneeling, watching Harrow curiously from the other side of the cell. He busied himself setting everything up, ignoring Viren for the moment. When things had been laid out to his satisfaction, Harrow stilled.

“Viren?” his voice was soft, but it carried an eeriness to it that made Viren shiver.

“Y-yes, Harrow?” Viren swallowed quickly, uncertain. He straightened his back, tucking his feet carefully under himself. His toes felt like ice.

“Come here.” There was no arguing with that tone; firm, soft. A command. Wordless, Viren stood- his leg shook, bad knee worse now then it had been. But he was able to get up unassisted, and limped to stand in front of his King, warily just outside of arm’s reach. Harrow cast him a look, just a flash of humour that made Viren’s shoulders loosen, tension flowing slowly out of his frame.

_This is Harrow. Harrow wouldn’t hurt me_.

“Undress.”

Viren froze.

“P…Pardon?” He couldn’t have heard right.

But Harrow was giving him that _look_ , the one that said _I know you heard me_ , and _Don’t make me repeat myself_. He had seen it many times over the course of their entwined lives. Hesitantly, Viren started on the buttons of his grey vest, sliding it off his sore shoulders slowly. He was unsure what to do with it, but Harrow simply took it from his nervous hands, and lay it beside him on the bench. he was dipping one of the clothes into the warm water, strong hands working carefully to keep from spilling any. Viren could understand why; there was only one jug of water, and more would require calling the guards Harrow had sent away. No one would approve of their newly returned King being in the cell of the man accused of killing him and stealing his throne.

Viren stripped off his shirt at Harrow’s impatient look, handing it to him.

Then they both stopped. Clearly Harrow had some sort of plan in mind, because he made and impatient noise, and flicked his gaze down to Viren’s pants.

Unsteady, Viren removed those too, flushing at the way Harrow’s eyes dragged across his flesh. His small clothes remained on, but even before Harrow looked up at him, he could see the remark coming.

“Getting shy, Viren?” Harrow teased, voice gentle and good natured. He lifted his wet hand to Viren’s hip, and plucked the ties; Viren hurried to undo them himself, biting his lip and looking firmly at the wall behind Harrow as his small clothes slid down his narrow hips, and dropped to the floor.

He was so ungodly _cold_ , that he stayed mercifully soft.

Harrow’s face tightened as he scanned Viren’s exposed skin, on hand still firm and _so warm_ , wet fingers holding the rung out clothe to his skin. Harrow radiated heat like he was composed entirely out of sunlight, and Viren had to stop himself from rocking forward to be closer. Bare in front of his king, Viren wasn’t so much cold as numb; like his clothing had done nothing but keep the freezing temperature against his skin.

Standing there naked, with Harrow so close, he was warmer than he had been since he’d been locked away. Perhaps even in years. He took a deep, shaky breath, and rested his hand on Harrow’s shoulder, steading his shaking knee.

Harrow said nothing, seeming to be engrossed in tracing his fingers around the molted bruises that covered Viren’s body. Dark smudges, ink-like, that throbbed under his careful exploration. Viren couldn’t help the hiss of discomfort as he pressed just this side of too hard.

“Sorry.” Harrow said with a grimace. His voice was low, distracted. Ultimately, he turned from his inspection, and dropped the cloth back into the steaming basin, wringing it out. He took the wet cloth to the spots of blood dried over Viren’s skin; Viren bit his lip as the heat of the cloth soaked into his skin, Harrow stroking it up his belly, to curl around his ribs.

His King had returned his grip to Viren’s hip, keeping him close. The intimacy of it did not escape him; Viren watched the wall, carefully trying to get his heart to stop racing. It was too strange a gesture. Was Harrow trying to show he had control? Or was this meant to be something more.

He was scared to ask, and find out the answer. So, he stayed silent under Harrow’s ministrations.

But then Harrow’s cloth began to creep places it _shouldn’t_ , places that were improper, and Viren’s face became a little more flush, his hands spasming anxiously on Harrow’s shoulders – and _when_ had he put both hands on Harrow’s shoulders? He couldn’t remember consciously doing it.

“H-Harrow, What—?" Viren started, but Harrow cut him off.

“Hush.”

No cruelty in his tone, only soft command. Viren fell silent, biting his lip as the warm cloth followed the curve of his hip, down the swell of his bare flank where he _knew_ there was no blood.

He gasped softly when Harrow dragged it around the outside of his thigh, and slid it slowly up- and _in_ , warm, rough cloth following the tender, vulnerable skin of his inner thigh. Viren widen his stance when Harrow’s knuckles brushed the skin of his other thigh, but Harrow continued with the new space.

Viren’s fingers clenched on Harrow’s shoulders as his King pressed the warm cloth between his legs, stroking his sack. And folding the cloth around Viren’s semi hard member in a very hard to misinterpret gesture. His legs shook, cock hardening under Harrow’s careful touch.

Viren made the mistake of looking down, and Harrow caught his eyes like a snare, holding him trapped.

“Viren?” Harrow asked into the silence.

“Yes, Harrow?” answered Viren, voice breathy but steady.

“I asked if you would serve me. Stay by me.” The rumble of unmistakable arousal in his voice made Viren shiver, rock into his tightening grip helplessly.

“Be _loyal_ ,” Viren gasped. Harrow’s grip tightened in response, and Viren nearly put his teeth through his lip supressing the noise that his King drew out of him. Harrow’s gaze was hawk-like, predatory. He kept Viren from looking away, and Viren felt chills go up his spine as his nipples tightened in the cold air, his finish near.

“Would you?” asked Harrow, voice a rumble Viren felt in his bones.

He couldn’t speak, but he _needed to_.

“ _Always_ ,” Viren gasped out, hips stuttering into Harrow’s grasp. The cloth was hot, hotter than it could have been, being out in the cold air so long, and Viren’s skin was _warm_. “ _Always_.” He couldn’t find the words to say it properly.

_I’ll always be yours, I always was. Yours. Yours._

“ _Mine_ ,” whispered Harrow, and the heat in his voice sent Viren over the edge.

He came with a whimper, fighting to keep his eyes open and on Harrow as pleasure ripped up his spine, filled his belly with hot, cramping heat, and made his knees shake. Harrow kept stroking him until he was done, and when Viren gasped, opened his mouth to beg _mercy_ , Harrow tugged him forward.

The mage fell inelegantly into his arms, let himself be tugged across Harrow’s lap and shivered in relief when his King tucked Viren’s sweat damp forehead against his neck, wrapping his bare form in his red cape. The thick fur edge was a band of heat along Viren’s feet, but it was nothing compared to the solid warmth of Harrow. He closed his eyes.

A hand stroked through his hair, swept it back tenderly.

“We’ve both changed, Viren.” Harrow confessed softly, and Viren felt more then heard his sigh against his damp skin. “I have no intention of letting you martyr yourself for mistakes of the past.”

Harrow was warm, warmer than sunlight, and tucked against him, the ice in Viren’s soul thawed a tiny bit. He curled cold fingers in Harrow’s doublet, and turned his nose into his warm skin.

“This is a mistake.” Viren muttered.

A warm, warm hand on the side of his face. Gently tracing the curl of his ear, the sharp cut of his cheekbone.

“It’s my mistake to make.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am not open to requests. Refer to my pinned twitter post for more information.


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